Natural Born Zombie Killers
by LoverandaFighter14
Summary: A zombie virus has infected most humans. Gun-toting Bella & a group of others are the last remaining survivors. But when risk-taking Edward comes into the mix, she meets her match. Can they heal each other?  AU. Lemons. Violence. Pls R&R.


**Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer, and always will. Just like playing around with her characters. :-) This most likely will go up to an M rating, for zombies and gore, violence, cursewords, and lemons. Canon characters, though a tad OOC. Hope you will enjoy. Please let me know :-) **

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><p><em>Natural Born Zombie Killers<em>

_BSPOV:_

I tightened the strap of my bulky backpack containing supplies- food, bandages, bandaids, bottled water- over my shoulder, and picked up my pace, taking longer, swift strides.

I couldn't get out of there without bringing attention to myself, however; My choice in shoes wouldn't let me. They were too loud, they gave off too much sound, because of the short steepled heels on the back of them.

I was wearing the closed-off office heels I had managed to snag in a deserted convenience store while gathering supplies to take back to where we were residing, just me and two other survivors after gunning down the infected owner.

All they did now was click and clack against the cracked pavement underneath every single step I took and echoed through the hollow space of air around me on the highest ground level of the parking complex, conjoined to the convenience store.

It would have been enough to alert even the most dopiest of zombies. And, realistically, I couldn't afford to bring attention onto myself in these desperate times.

Lady Luck just wasn't on my side today, though.

I didn't even notice the man skulking slowly behind me, until I had tossed the heavy backpack into the backseat of my running car and had reversed out of there. I had even almost whacked him off his feet.

The yelp he gave out and the slap against the hood of my car alerted me that he was not one of the infected. He was human. He was exactly like the rest of us; survivors trying to make through the day, then the next day, and the next, with the little support they had.

Still, there was just something about him that did not sit right with me.

He had a limp to the way he walked, and he was extremely rough-looking. He was tall, at roughly six foot in estimation. He was wearing a dark overcoat that, while looked very warm on him, also swamped his lean figure, and dark baggy trousers that didn't meet all the way down to his ankles, because they were too short.

Clearly, the clothes did not belong to him but he had to make do with what he could find, like the rest of us.

As he hopped over to the driver's side where my window was, I saw the white dressy button-up shirt he was wearing underneath had a gaping hole in it, like he had been attacked and sliced by some kind of sharp knife. There was also a few smeared splotches of a red substance that looked alarmingly similiar to blood, but I didn't know if the blood belonged to him, or an infected one or not.

He tapped a hand gently against the top hood of my car to get my attention. I leaned over to press the button that would automatically scroll down the window so I could hear him properly.

He leaned down so that his eyes were level to mine through the glass, and it was then I realized he couldn't have been a few years older than me in age. He looked like he hadn't shaved in some time, because he had a lot of dark thick stubble grazing along that chiselled masculine chin of his, and his eyes; they were a light green and so so bloodshot, like he hadn't had a proper sleeping session in weeks, which was hardly surprising in the least.

It happened to even the best of us; A good nights sleep was now a longed-after rarity.

"How you doing this evening, Miss?"

It sounded peculiar to my ears to hear such a normal sounding response from a human, rather than a gutteral groan or the trickling sound of stringy blood dribbling from a mouth.

His voice was surprisingly soft and gentle, in direct contrast to his confronting appearance at first glance.

He didn't sound like he grew up in Washington, like I had. His voice had a distinctive lilt about it, with the way he pronounced certain words. There were no 'R's' in his vocabulary. Originally from Boston, maybe? Still, his voice was rather pleasant sounding and husky.

Sexy even, dare I say it, because I was too keen to find appreciation in anything these days... whether it be a non-infected male's voice, or a mere light laugh shared over a joke or silly tale between two.

He raised a hand and scratched his stubbly chin with a set of long fingers, which made me realize he had a tattoo; a chain of looped letters in black-ink linking across each knuckle on his left hand.

"Look, uh. I was wondering, if it's not too much for me to ask... if you could maybe give me a lift? I've been on my feet for days, and frankly, I'm exhausted. I'm also good at using handguns, if it's any consolation."

I bit the insides of my cheeks, considering.

It wasn't every day that I let a stranger into my car, and while he looked a little daunting and seedy... I couldn't just refuse and make him walk, especially considering not only the weak and defenseless state he was in- what with the limp, the torn shirt and all...- but the fact there was over three-million hungry dead people waiting ouside the complex to sink their teeth into us.

I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself had I let another person get infected from the mad raging disease that inflicted near to millions of Americans like myself. Him, likewise.

"Well, okay," I agreed uncertainly.

His face brightened up then and the most genuine crooked smile came across his face, softening everything about him instantly.

"Thank you, I really do appreciate it," he said breathlessly, then made to step in front of the car to the passenger's side. Luckily, I kept the toe of my foot far away from the accelerator as possible to prevent any more mishaps again. As he slid in, he said softly, "Not many people are this kind and willing to help out a stranger. Especially not in these difficult times, where people are either alive or bloodthirsty dead zombie assholes. How have you managed to do it?"

"Do what?"

"Survive for so long..." he supplied eagerly. "Half the human-race has gone crazy. I was locked away from it, so I didn't have to endure everything that was going on in the outside world but... soon as I was released, all these people started running after me, they had blood on their faces..." He shuddered and groaned disgustedly. "So, I ran all the way up here into the parking complex for higher ground, assuming it'd be safer this way."

"It most definitely is safer up here on higher ground," I commended, examining the surroundings of the parking lot. "They can't climb buildings, so I suppose that's a good thing." It was dead quiet, literally.

After the rabid breakout of the Z-virus spread out over almost all twelve continents in the U.S.A, you come to appreciate the little moments of quiet you had to yourself. The moments where there was no alarming scuttle of over a thousand feet racing towards you, gutteral bloodthirsty groans, bared blood-stained teeth of the numerous infected... it was pure bliss. A moment, where you could almost think back to how things were before the virus spread.

"So, how'd you manage it?" He asked again. He seemed like he really wanted to know. I couldn't blame him.

"My father Charlie is... well, I should probably say, _was_, a cop," I whispered, determined not to cry. I didn't want to think about it. It hurt too much. "He had a lot of weapons, shotguns, tasers... After I realized he had been infected, I collected all of his gear, loaded up my car, and took them with me."

"You've lost your father to the virus?" he asked back, short of a sad whisper. "I haven't heard from my family at all. My parents, or my brothers. When did you first realize something was wrong?"

"Well, that morning Charlie, my father and I were eating breakfast out on the porch. Our house was in a secluded part of the town, near the opening of the woods where my father used to constantly hunt and, we noticed, how peculiar it was. On the east side of town, we noticed all these flocks of birds were flying in the same direct pattern over to the west side of town, where we were. Almost as if they were giving us a warning sign that death was approaching. But then, we saw them, about two hours later..."

I couldn't surpress the shudder that rippled through me, and he noticed. He put a grazed hand on my left knee, and gave it a small squeeze. I appreciated it; that quick and fleeting gesture of human affection and empathy.

"A young girl, around twelve or thirteen. She was the first of the infected we saw. She came through the trees, and her clothes were all tattered. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her skin was white as a sheet, and purple. Charlie tried to approach her and ask her what was wrong, only she turned on him. So, I ran inside, gathered all his weapons, hopped into my car, and fled out of there like my life depended on it, which I truly was," I finished.

There was a bit of retrospective silence between me and my new companion after that. I could still remember it exactly as if it had been only yesterday, how bizzare and tragic the young girl looked. Mostly, I felt guilty with myself for letting Charlie go over there. Instead, we could have fled together and kept safe.

Most of all, I loathed myself fundamentally for not doing anything while it was happening. I simply stood there, while she beared her teeth and started to attack every inch of my father's skin. Hand, wrist. Neck, chin. I should have helped him. I should have found one of his weapons and used it on her. Only, it was too late...

One bite is all that is needed for the virus to take over in an active bloodstream. One bite from the infected, was all it took to start frothing up at the mouth and twitching.

What horrified me the most, was that after I had managed to collect all his weapons and ram them into the backseat of the car, I caught sight of him in the rearview mirror. There was a halting moment there, where my eyes locked with his. His weren't the same brown ones that matched mine anymore. No, they were red then, with the change. For a moment, I had naively assumed there was still a part deep inside of him, that hadn't forgotten I was his daughter with the change.

He ambled his way over to the side of my window, and peered in at me through the glass. The look of him as a changed zombie would never seem to leave my vision. It was now what nightmares for me were made out of. And, for a moment there, I sat inside that car, unable to bring myself away from him.

He had raised a hand to the glass, and I remembered being stuck on his purple-tinged his fingertips now were, when they glided along the smooth glass in desperation to get to me. A low growl had torn through his teeth, it had sounded so much as if he was calling to me, pleading for me to stay with him, to join him and not leave him on his own.

Only the moment where we stared at each other mutely hadn't lasted long. Next thing I knew, the cock of a rifle was going off from somewhere in the distance and his head was being blown off his shoulders into smithereens.

I remembered screaming out his name, when all the dark slippery blood and loose bits of pink flesh cascaded all around the glass of the windshield like a blood red waterfall.

I was about to give in, after that. I couldn't take it any longer, I couldn't live without him. And, seeing him so... violently killed like that... it broke something inside of me, a piece of hope for a better future to come, something that changed me forever.

Through the hysterical screaming and tears for my father, I flopped onto my belly and groped around in the backseat for one of my father's weapons. His two-millimeter rifle.

I had cocked the chamber and positioned the nozzle level to my temple, only something stopped me from killing myself that day. They had stopped me.

It was a glorious thing that had happened to me, meeting young Jasper and his even younger wife Alice, two survivors who had yet been infected with the zombie virus.

Of course, they weren't officially married because they were underage and it was illegal but they often pretended they were. They only had eyes for each other. They bickered like a married couple, too.

Plus where could you find an perfectly abled minister that would help carry out an official marriage, when a significant amount of people were already infected and flesh-hungry, muderous zombies?

It had been Jasper who had shot my father. He was a very startling sight to see; in his round cowboy hat and shotgun hanging loosely off the top of his shoulder. When he gave a weird handgesture to someone or something, Alice had appeared about half a meter behind him.

At first glance, you wouldn't have assumed they were a couple. They looked like complete polar opposites; Jasper being the rugged, gun-toting cowboy who relished in every moment of the zombie apocalypse, while Alice looked so much sweeter and harmless in nature.

Ever since coming across the two very erratic survivors, I've stayed with them. We decided it was best we kept in groups, rather than split up and let ourselves get out numbered by the zombies. It wasn't always easy being stuck with Jasper and Alice, though.

One of them would start an argument with the other, that would cause either Jasper to break rules and split from us to go on a zombie killing escapade, or cause Alice to break the safety in numbers rule to go off on her own and find a shopping mall where she could steal clothes and accessories; her own definition of retail therapy.

It usually meant that whoever it was I was unlucky enough to be stuck with, whether Alice or Jasper, they would get moody and stress about their significant other's welfare. It drove me nuts half the time.

But still, I would have rathered been stuck with two enarmoured, batshit crazy people than being stuck all alone attempting to defend myself with whatever limited resources of my father's I had available, until the bullets ran out.

It became aware to me, a moment later that I had been deep in thought, while this stranger sat there slumped with his head resting against the back of the seat, and his eyes tightly closed.

He looked exhausted and, quite frankly I couldn't blame him for trying to take advantage of the calm quiet in the car while it lasted, because... once we were officially out of the parking complex, zombies would be raining in over us like a shit-storm of massive proportions.

"I'm so relieved to find someone else who hasn't been infected," he blurted out, eyes still squeezed shut. Then, he opened his eyes and glanced over at me nervously. His expression made me nervous in return. "You cannot begin to possibly imagine how frightened I was to find out this was happening outside. I had no damn idea!"

"Believe me, I was frightened at first, too. Still am. But why did it take you so long to find out this was what the state of the world was in? Why were you locked away from the outside world with no insight into what was happening?" I asked, my tone of voice purposefully conversational and light.

Only, I wasn't aware then just how serious the question was to him, how heavy. "I was in lock-down at a psychiatric ward for attempting to commit suicide." He looked away, as if afraid it would be seen as a massive disappointment to me, bringing his eyes elsewhere.

Then, he brought his hands up to run them down the sides of his hairy face, like the feeling of his skin against his fingertips fascinated him.

"You're probably wondering why I look like a hairy ogre," he went on, a teasing air to his voice that made me smile for the first time in what felt months. "Well, that is part of the reason why. Where I was staying in, in the ward, we weren't allowed to use razors or any sharp implements out of fear we'd try to off ourselves." He let out a deep whoosh of air through his mouth, while his fingernails picked at his chin, "Hopefully where you're headed, they'll be some razors. Right?"

"A shave is definitely in order," I allowed, a little stiffly. He gave out a nice sounding chuckle, which would have been contagious otherwise, had the circumstances been different.

But immediately, my mood turned sour. I was not in the mood to tease or become lighthearted. We were approaching the last turn out of the parking complex, which meant a shit-load of zombies would be closing in on us any minute now.

I turned in my seat to look over at him. I found he was already staring anyway, his eyes raking down the whole of my face in curiosity or something similiar to appreciation over my kindness. I make the assessment that he might have been very handsome without all that facial fuzz, which completely takes me by surprise. "What's your name by the way?" I asked, a little breathlessly.

"Edward." It flew out of his mouth so casually and readily.

I was caught-off guard for a moment by the sound of his name. Edward? I would have predicted he would have maybe went by a modern name, like Robert perhaps. Or James, even. Not such an old-fashioned name... Edward.

"Well, good to meet you, Edward." It sounded strange curling off my tongue. "I'm Bella."

He went to extend a grazed and swollen-looking hand to shake my own, only now wasn't the time for pleasantries.

I turned in my seat to face him full-on, "Edward, what skills do you have that you'd feel would come as very beneficial in keeping our lives in tact?"

He looked put-out by my tactless diversion in shaking his hand. He stared down at his hand for a moment, then raised it to grope at his light auburn hair instead. "Uh... I think I'm good with using handguns. I'm good at driving cars, too. My father used to say I'd make a good race-car driver." He threw me a lop-sided smirk at that.

I considered what he told me in silence for a moment, debating on how I could put him to good use. Then, I had it. I clicked my fingers together, then jerked my head into the backseat.

"Well, okay. There is a handgun in the backseat, loaded with six bullets," I told him quickly. "Get it out and unwind your window roughly three centimeters- enough so that you'll be able to make a clear shot if any decide to try break a window!"

He nodded briskly at my command, then unbuckled his seatbelt to throw himself into the backseat of the car.

"Got it! You want me to do this shit in the back seat or the front with you?"

Well, I knew I would have a clearer perspective on driving when I knew there wasn't a person sitting right next to me, clouding my vision on the left side.

"Stay in the back seat," I said, a little snappish. "That way I can see clearer where I'm going from both angles."

"Okay, I got it sweetheart!"

Somehow this Edward stranger calling me sweetheart ticked me off enough that my foot worked a faster impulse than usual. I stomped down on the accelerator, which threw him forward into the back of the seat a bit.

"Fuck, you weren't kidding," I heard him cackle impressively with laughter through the engine's gurgling ignition. "You've been doing this a lot, being on the run, haven't you?"

"Look, I need all the concentration I can get right now!" I found myself shouting at him. _Boy, this hairy man knew all the right ways to tick me off easily._ "Stop talking and _concentrate_ yourself! Our lives are at stake! We're almost about to pass through the complex into daylight uncovered so, please... _do_ your thing and I'll do mine!"

After that, he grasped how severe the situation was, I think, because after I was done with my screaming, he cocked the gun, unwound down the window and stuck his arm out, all the way to his muscular elbow.

I was literally itching in my seat over that, practically fuming with anger over his carelessness and lack of self-preservation. "Hey!" I started again, "Don't put your arm out there! Do you not _realize_ any zombie wouldn't hesitate to bite your whole limb off, or even _grab_ onto it to plunge their teeth into you?"

He met my eyes through the rearview mirror. "So what," he shrugged. "I'll have a better chance of not missing this way!"

_ Good God, what was wrong with men? Always feeling the need to do crazy, dangerous stunts and put themselves at risk?_

"No, put your arm _back in_!" I was a little disturbed by my reaction. Of how argumentative I was being around him. "I will _not_ risk another person dying because they were too stupid and stubborn to act responsible!"

"_Stubborn_?" He had the gall to scoff. "_Stupid_?"

Goddamn him and his idiocy to show off!

The blinding flash of stark white above us signalled to us we've neared the end of the complex. But... still, I was not going to risk losing another person. Why was it when something like this happens, people still find it hard to believe it was a life-or-death situation, one where a person's own life should not be gambled with?

He had only just started shooting when I leaned back and slammed my hand against his chest, grabbing a handful of his shirt.

He hadn't expected it, so he crashed back into the seat just in time, as a female zombie with red, red eyes and blonde blood-matted sticky hair mashed her mouth against the glass, roughly where his forearm had been resting hardly a second ago before my intervention. There was an unnerving squeaking sound as her tongue created friction against the glass.

"Oh, fuck," Edward gasped in alarm, then raised the gun in his hand. He did not miss- the shot rang out, defeaning me- as parts of her stringy head entrails flew in through the gap in the glass to meet his face. He rubbed at his face with one sleeve of his overcoat in disgust, head thrown back, while he then muttered underneath his breath, "Now _that_ is the reason I don't like blondes."

And then, he turned his head forward into the seat in time for the vomit to explode from his mouth. Poor guy; clearly inexperienced in the art of zombie killing.

**What do you think of this first chapter? If I have enough response to it, enough interest, I'll probably be updating weekly. :)**


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